


habits

by lances



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Humor, M/M, featuring snarky mayuzumi and shiteating uncrowned kings, furihata trying to awkwardly praise akashi is my favorite thing, mainly akashi being extra, post-seirin vs. rakuzan, then again nothing new there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 04:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11820849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lances/pseuds/lances
Summary: “Oh hoho, Akashi,” Nebuya’s eyebrows hitched, “smooth moves, I didn’t know you had it in you. That kid nearly fainted.”“Man,tell me about it!” Hayama cackled from further back, having his voice drop an octave, sounding nothing like Akashi, “‘Would you like to?’Heck yeah. Jump in my panties, prince, my body isready.”Akashi’s jaw fell unhinged. He wondered if, alongside doubling their training regimen, he could still buy out an entire row on the train.(or: furihata catches akashi after their match and decides to be brave and cheer him up. it works, only akashi has no business being that suave.)





	habits

For the first time in a decade of back to back victory, Akashi tasted loss.

It was a strange feeling that siphoned its way up the hollow of his chest, and into his throat, folding under his tongue in a word of sportsmanship. For once, he sat on the opposite end of the fence, watching the celebration with humbled eyes and a small smile that told a little more than he would’ve liked to share. Losing, as childish as it sounded, hurt; losing, as arrogant as it sounded, really _fucking_ hurt. He wasn’t uncultured enough to voice anything—no, Seirin beat his Rakuzan, and of all things, Akashi knew what absolute meant.

He sighed, pulling his sweater up over his head, keeping it close to his shower-damp skin. The locker room was silent, the team already having filed out more than ten minutes ago, leaving it surprisingly lonely for someone who prided himself on his lone-wolf personality. He allowed himself a smile, looking down at the white fabric that sat nicely between his fingers, creases rolled out in the dim light, broken under white and shadow. _Well, Kuroko,_ he shook his head, _this isn’t the outcome I thought would fall into place._

He swallowed, pressing down the disappointment he had in himself as well as the pride he had for Tetsuya.

It had been so long, _so long,_ since he’d felt that for him. Akashi felt like he didn’t have the right to feel proud of Kuroko, given what the other had to go through to knock some sense and humility into all of them. But Akashi did, and he wouldn’t apologize for it. Kuroko had overpowered him in a way he never imagined possible, with or without the accessory he picked up along the way. Alright, maybe he _was_ a little bitter—Kagami Taiga would not get his praise, even though he knew the player deserved it.

“You still in here, Sei-chan?”

_Reo._

“Ah, yes. I was lost in thought, I apologize,” Akashi glanced upward, letting the fabric fall from his hold. He did his best not to wince at the concerned expression Reo gave him, petrol eyes stamped with exhaustion. It wasn’t hard for Akashi to tell that Reo had sobbed his fair share—he supposes they all probably did, and it was on Akashi to an extent. Yes, teams worked in a single, interdependent unit—but Akashi was their _captain;_ the four on his back was heavier with Rakuzan’s loss on his shoulders. “We should get going.”

“Yeah,” Reo nodded, although he seemed out of it as well, “the team’s waiting outside for you, even Nebuya who’s been begging for food, Sei-chan. _Begging_.”

Akashi chuckled at the incredulous tone, his voice a little sad, “He has no shame.”

“That’s what I keep saying!” Reo huffed, crossing his arms much like a petulant child. Akashi smiled, _at least its_ something _to get your mind off this mess of a night, huh, Mibuchi?_ “Is there rehab for poor etiquette? He’s so crass, good goddess.”

“That he is.” Akashi agreed easily, his voice smoother than silk and held low, dense with emotion. It was fine to joke around but the elephant in the room was too large to make friends with, and soon, Akashi felt it push him into the wall. There wasn’t much he could do now but go home, he guessed.

“You know, Seijuuro,” he heard Reo risk his name, sensing the seriousness that strained Akashi’s frame, “we don’t blame you for tonight. It was a good game, and you played like a king. You’re a good captain.”

_A good captain._

Akashi didn’t answer, not for the lack of knowing how to respond, but more in hopes to avoid an argument. No, he wasn’t a good leader in his own eyes. Good leaders led their teams to victory, and the water-colored violet that hung under Reo’s eyes was enough physical proof that he’d done just the opposite. Shutting his locker, he threw the man a tight lipped smile—appreciating the sentiment, but not accepting it—before gesturing towards the doors.

Reo sighed before turning to walk out, “You’ll believe me one day, Sei-chan.”

 

//

 

The buses waited in silence, resting against the backdrop of an even quieter night.

It was no surprise, after all. Everyone going home tonight had lost, but not before having to congratulate the team that left them in the dust. Akashi walked a little slower than the rest of Rakuzan, composed enough not to let his feet drag, but disappointed enough to let his features settle into stoic regret. For someone who lived off his own pompous statements, Akashi felt the shame breathe into his form.

There were hundreds of different ways he could have handled this match.

“Your thinking is louder when you’re silent.” Mayuzumi, who had also fallen a few steps behind the team, spoke up. Akashi looked up, watching flat grey eyes stare at him over a high shoulder. “It’s frankly a little annoying.”

Scoffing out a small chuckle, Akashi looked to the side. “Apologies, then.”

“Stop being so arrogant.” Mayuzumi turned away, keeping his pace a foot or two ahead. “You seem to think you’re the only one playing on this team. I thought you might have learnt your lesson by now.”

“Hardly my intent, you all played a fine match.”

“You say that like you’re giving me condolences.” Mayuzumi snorted, tucking his hands into the staple Rakuzan sweater. “If we had won, I wonder if you’re vain enough to have taken claim for that as well.”

Akashi stayed silent, letting the brisk Tokyo air brush into his clothes and the corners of his monochrome eyes. There was no telling what he would have said, had Rakuzan managed to beat Seirin—no telling _who_ he would have been at the time. Maybe he would have said it was natural, definitely an absolute reality or some other corrupted truth he’d convinced himself of. Akashi just hoped he wouldn’t have been arrogant enough to assume the win was his own.

Perhaps there was a part of him that should be more thankful for the loss and humility that were nailed between his shoulders. Akashi was too proud to let his head hang, but he sure felt like doing it when Mayuzumi threw the comment his way.

“I wouldn’t have,” he said, decided.

“Your current god complex begs to differ.” Mayuzumi came to a stop in front of the bus doors, where Hayama had just finished climbing, and turned to face Akashi in full.

 _God complex?_ Akashi frowned. Everyone in that stadium had felt his change, including the members of his team. Unless the insinuation really was current—Akashi’s frown deepened into something thoroughly disappointed. There was a strange rise in Mayuzumi’s face, the haughty confidence of a winner. Only, they hadn’t won at all; Akashi wasn’t left wondering about the expression for long. “Pardon?”

“You say you wouldn’t have dubbed Rakuzan’s victory a _Seijuuro_ victory. So, why is it your loss?” Akashi’s eyes widened, even if by a small margin. “I thought the blue boy humbled you. As always, I’m wrong when it comes to you, _emperor_.”

Mayuzumi stepped onto the bus, his captain left staring at the hollow entrance.

The title was spat like an insult, when just a few hours ago it would’ve been the highest praise. For some reason, though, Akashi felt a strange brand of comfort sit in his throat. He, of all people, knew his team better than anyone else out there—and whether he was being cocky or not, Akashi knew he was better than various captains in that regard. He knew how Mibuchi liked his protein shakes, and knew how many servings of noodles it took to make Nebuya sick.

Similarly, Akashi knew Mayuzumi’s _signs_.

Signs of annoyance, of indifference, of _appreciation._

He didn’t order the smile, but it made its way onto his face anyway. The exchange was so like the man, that Akashi couldn’t help but chuckle a little. Mayuzumi, for how blunt he generally was, was never forward. He lived in his own closed off contradiction; no, he would never tell Akashi not to blame himself for a loss. He would definitely turn it around, mold it into an insult—that didn’t change the meaning, though.

 _You’re incredibly petty, Chihiro,_ Akashi readjusted his bag strap. _Thank you._

“A-Akashi-san!”

Leg hung midair, Akashi turned to the stuttered version of his name with a bewildered expression.

None of his past teammates used that particular honorific, and all of his present ones were on the bus, sulking most likely. He was not easily surprised, but when the sight of wide, nervous eyes finally registered, Akashi’s eyebrows rose. The man had come running, bangs pushed out from his forehead, the stadium falling into his backdrop, lit and alive, haloing the darker city horizon.

Of all the people in there, he did not expect a Seirin sub.

“Furihata Kouki.” Akashi acknowledged when the player came to a stop in front of him, trying his best to catch a wisp of breath, body doubled over and medal hung from his neck. Letting his foot fall back to asphalt, Akashi cocked his head. Emperor eye and absolutes accounted for, he couldn't figure out what the kid wanted from him. Not in the slightest.

They had spoken only briefly during the game, and Akashi had given him a gentle, albeit melancholy, congratulations when they lined up. In both situations, Furihata had shown him nothing but a stuttering jaw and caffeine-induced nervousness. It wasn’t like Akashi wasn’t a little self-aware—he knew how intimidating he could be, and what with his _initial_ Kagami welcome - scissors? the _lower your head_ fiasco at the opening ceremony? - he couldn’t blame the kid.

“Um, hi!” Furihata raised his head, the white grip on his knees looking strong enough to shatter them. “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you or anything—if you need to go—”

“I can spare a moment.” Akashi interrupted, his voice sweetened with curiosity. He wasn’t sure whether that was true or not, but he figured the bus wouldn’t leave without the coach who, last he saw, was invested in a discussion with various scouts and youth reporters.

“Are you sure?” Furihata stood up with a breathless exhale, before noticing what he’d asked. “I didn’t—I mean, of course you’re sure, I just—”

“You’re fine.” Akashi threw him a small, reassuring smile that was bordering on amused. “Is there something you needed?”

“Yes—no? Yes and no?”

Akashi’s amusement widened in breadth along with his smile. “I believe those are mutually exclusive responses.”

With a lung-deep groan and a faint redness to his cheeks, Furihata dug the heels of both palms into his eyes. “Sorry—I’m just, like, really awful at this.”

“No need to apologize.” Akashi waved him off with a shake of the head. “No need to be so anxious either.”

“Sorry—I mean,” Furihata bit his lip, crossing both arms across the white fabric of his crewneck. “You’re just really something, you know? Your presence is kinda terrifying.”

Akashi nodded, slow and steady, letting the smile slide off his face gradually. If this is what the man had come to tell him, consider Akashi well versed in his own inflated feelings of ability, privilege and infallibility; no need to sprint across Tokyo’s largest basketball stadium to let him know. “Ah, so I’ve been told.”

Furihata hummed, tucking his lips inward, his head looking off to the side in unmistakable nervousness. “It’s not always a bad thing, I guess? Sure, everyone thinks so, but—” he sighed, more at himself than anything, “I sound like an idiot.”

“You don’t sound like an idiot.” Akashi responded, tracing the sharp contour of the other’s profile, marveling at how someone could look basic and pretty all at once, stood in the harsh light and shadow of a stadium. Not that he’d noticed before; it was hard to admire someone mid-match when they were sweaty and clad in three-kilo heavy basketball shorts, after all. “Perhaps a little lost?”

At that, Furihata chanced half a smile in his direction. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

“I suppose one of us is obligated to be eloquent,” Akashi teased with a quick rise and fall of his eyebrow. “To keep the conversation moving, naturally.”

“ _Naturally_.” Furihata laughed a little, and Akashi felt a swell of pride. It was hard enough dealing with a nervous wreck like Furihata, but putting him at ease was a whole other level of achievement. “You know, you’re not so bad off-court.”

“I’m not sure whether to thank you for that remark or not.”

“It’s a compliment, promise!” Furihata added, his voice caked in the same anxiousness knotted between his brows, hands raised defensively. _Well,_ Akashi sighed internally, _spoke too soon, it seems._ “Really!”

“Then I’ll be sure to acknowledge it as such,” was his diplomatic response. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.” Furihata’s voice leveled again, but the discomfort didn’t fully leave his expression. When they lapsed into silence, staring at each other with a certain level of expectancy, Akashi took it upon himself to nod again.

“Well, I suppose if that’s all, I’ll take my leave,” he turned on his heel, brisk, “Seirin was a formidable opponent, I look forward to our future games—”

“Wait!” Akashi looked over his shoulder, glancing down at Furihata’s extended arm. The man hesitated for a moment, “Please, just—wait one more minute? I—that isn’t what I wanted to say.”

“Ah, very well.” Akashi turned halfway, “I apologize for cutting you off.”

“Don’t, please.” Furihata threw a nervous chuckle into the air, “I’m just super awkward, is all. I just wanted to say that, well, you’re pretty amazing, you know that right?”

Akashi let his gaze fall to asphalt in a minor show of modesty. “I believe you give me too much credit, Furihata-san.”

“Are you _kidding_?” It was harsh and incredulous enough for him to raise his head, startled by the sudden show of confidence. Furihata shook his head, awe written into his features, “Man, how do you not even realize that? I mean, you looked super confident before? I thought I was stupid for telling you this, but I’m kind of glad I did. You’re like, hands down, the best player in this tournament.”

Akashi was usually more in control of himself, but the bitter scoff that left him wasn’t exactly planned. “I believe that title belongs to Kagami. Seirin won, as I’m sure you realize.”

“Yeah, sure, we did.” Furihata rolled his eyes, and Akashi was pretty sure he must have forgotten about his nervousness in his fit of disbelief. “But it was after biting and clawing our way through. Like, shit—” he laughed, running a hand through his hair. Akashi was _most definitely_ sure Furihata forgot who he was talking to at this point. “I don’t even know how we did it—if you’d played like the fourth quarter from the start, I think we would’ve been royally fuc—uh, err—”

Furihata cringed at his word choice.

 _There it is, realization._ Akashi supplied, amused, “Royally fucked?”

Furihata gave him a sheepish grin. “Rakuzan’s an emperor, right? I can be witty.”

“I’m certain I would be fairly correct in assuming that link was unintentional.”

Furihata looked off, fighting his smile, “and you’d be, like, twelve hundred percent right. As always, huh?”

This time, Akashi let himself laugh out loud, head craning itself backwards. This kid—was something. There was pretty little Akashi expected of Seirin’s nameless subs, and perhaps it was his pompousness talking at the time, but when Furihata had stepped out onto the court—to mark _him,_ of all players—Akashi was thoroughly confused. Sure, he was an interesting player, but he was still incredibly unpolished with miles more to go. What Akashi didn’t anticipate, however, was Furihata being interesting without basketball in the equation.

 _Why would a winner chase after a loser?_ Normally, the respectful thing was to say nothing at all. Anything would come off as patronizing, and Akashi never appreciated something as base as empty compliments. But now—this exchange, he could tell, was the farthest from insincere. Furihata meant it, even if he came off as the type to overthink things.

_I suppose that’s one thing the both of us have in common._

“As always,” Akashi agreed, coming down from his high in good humor. He was able to catch that brief look of appreciative awe before it was rolled off Furihata’s expression, and maybe that pleased tint to his cheeks was a trick of the light. “I am absolute, right?”

“Right!” Furihata nodded, his grin wide and crooked and so incredibly satisfied that Akashi wasn’t sure what to do with it. It was a good look, though, much nicer than the trembling frown that usually made home on his expression. Furihata let it settle into a small, genuine smile, “For real, though. You’re really awesome—well, all the Generation of Miracles are, but it takes something special to, I don’t know, keep them _and_ a bunch of Uncrowned Kings in line. I liked being on court with you.”

The corner of Akashi’s lips quirked. “You think I’m special?”

“Come on, have mercy, man. Don’t you think I’ve embarrassed myself enough?” Furihata groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Quite a bit, certainly. Can’t say I don’t find it endearing.” Akashi hummed, crossing his arms and leaning back against the side of the bus. “You’re really something else, aren’t you, Furihata Kouki.”

“I’m surprised you actually know my name.”

Now _that_ took Akashi by surprise. Sure, the sub was definitely not the most pronounced player on the court, and he didn’t showcase a hidden talent or anything that took away from his simple aesthetic, but to think that he was completely nameless—well, it took a hefty amount of self-doubt. Blinking a few times, Akashi tried to veil his confusion. “And why wouldn’t I know your name?”

“You sort of gave off the ‘ _everyone below me is trash’_ vibe,” Furihata scratched at the back of his neck, looking as awkward as he felt, before stuttering, “—I mean—that—like—that was _before_ we spoke!”

“Understood.” Akashi’s brows furrowed, “But I am still a captain—it seems just to study an opponent to the fullest. It wouldn’t be good leadership not to.”

Furihata, for once, didn’t really respond. Instead, Akashi saw the coil of his muscles release, shoulders sagging and face void of anything but calm bewilderment. Brown eyes studied him, jumping between his own for the longest time, settling on Akashi’s mouth for lack of anywhere else to look.

“You know,” Furihata began, breaking the silence that sat sunken like sediment between them with a gentle, peaceful admission, “You really are a good guy, Akashi.”

Before he could respond, mouth hung open, Akashi caught a glimpse of his coach approaching over Furihata’s shoulder. Heavy disappointment came hand in hand with the idea of ending the conversation with Furihata—ending it _there_ in particular. There were at least a dozen reasons why Akashi refused to accept that praise, but more so, he wanted to know why Furihata of all people saw him in that light.

If anything, he should’ve been the first in line to call Akashi a monster of ungodly proportions.

He watched his coach set a heavy palm on Furihata’s shoulder, the latter’s anxiety spiking in the form of a pitched yelp. The man looked down at him with a deadpan that rivaled even Tetsuya’s, Akashi would venture.

“Fine game, Seirin.” Shirogane spoke, flat and unmodulated before turning to Akashi, his eyes hard. Unlike the players, he still looked prim and proper, shirt tucked in, hair brushed to perfection. Akashi, who could still feel his muscles aching, couldn’t help but envy him. “Time to go. Is everyone on?”

Akashi nodded, mute as he schooled his own expression into stoic seriousness.

“Good.” Shirogane looked between him and Furihata, clipping a _‘make it short’_ before stepping himself onto the bus. They would have a long train ride home after this disappointment.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you under fire or anything.” Furihata winced, looking up at Akashi through his lashes, chin tucked.

Akashi sighed, “You didn’t. I believe my loss is what, as you placed it, _put me under fire._ ”

“But you were amazing—” before either of them could register what he was doing, Furihata took a few steps forward, laying a palm onto Akashi’s shoulder unthinkingly, thumb brushing the pit of his neck by mistake “—uh, sorry—”

Not wanting him to remove it, and not knowing exactly _why_ that was, Akashi placed his own palm over Furihata’s, smile exhausted. “Do you make it a habit to praise your opponents?”

“No?”

 _Meek_.

Deciding to take a leap of faith, Akashi removed his hand in favor of unzipping his gym bag. He pulled out a single business card from the deck his father had him carry around, offering it to a surprised Furihata between two fingers.

“Well, would you like to?”

_Make me a habit._

 

//

 

When Akashi actually got onto the bus, he was acquainted with a set of _incredibly_ smug faces, his body stopping at the top of the isle to stare them down.

“Oh ho _ho_ , Akashi,” Nebuya’s eyebrows hitched, “smooth moves, I didn’t know you had it in you. That kid nearly fainted.”

“ _Man,_ tell me about it!” Hayama cackled from further back, having his voice drop an octave, sounding nothing like Akashi, “ _‘Would you like to?’_ Heck yeah _._ Jump in my panties already, prince, my body is _ready._ ”

Akashi’s jaw fell unhinged and he didn’t bother stopping it. _How the hell did these two even get into a school as refined as Rakuz_ —

“Next time, Sei-chan, darling, make sure the door is _closed_ before you decide to flaunt your charm on a poor, unsuspecting boy, hm?”

_—never mind, then._

Akashi didn’t have to turn to Reo to picture the urbane smile woven onto his pleasant features. Without giving them a response, he scoffed, trying to tame his disbelief into something other than flushed cheeks. _Ridiculous,_ he dumped his body in the seat next to Mayuzumi at the very front, lacking the grace he would normally have. He refused to sit next to Mibuchi.

_They’re unbelieva—_

_“_ Didn’t that one emperor also have a thing for peasants?” Mayuzumi mused with a sharp smile, headphones tilted to the side to expose a single ear. He glanced at Akashi through the corner of a slanted eye. “Doubt he was quite as forward about it, though.”

This time, Akashi didn’t bother deigning any of them with even a sound, head sinking into his lap.

_A good captain should be glad they’re taking the loss in good humor, right?_

_They're all shit out of luck, then - I’m not a good captain._

Akashi wondered if, alongside doubling their training regimen, he could still buy out an entire row on the train.

 

//

 

> _Unknown  
>  _ (21:48): hi, akashi-san! this is furihata. thought i might take you up on the offer? :)

 

**Author's Note:**

> i love hayama with all my heart


End file.
